A Sword Sheathed in Snow
by Trane7
Summary: Cracks make themselves known on the edifice of man, in the winters of snow. Cold, unforgiving, Knights must rise to the war that is bearing down on them. Blades must be sharpened, hearts must steeled. History etched on the stone that details the chapter of Man. Winters bring death and cold, but they can also be a beginning unlike any other.
1. Chapter 1

The winter was billowing like righteous zeal outside Her Majesty's keep. For the life of him he could not fathom why Ser Derim had insisted in riding a war party out now of all times. The Dark ones that surrounded their home were treacherous and many, that was for certain, but even they would no journey under the biting cold of snow.

'Perhaps an excuse, to further bring back gifts to her Majesty?' He thought wryly as he swept the halls of the keep. As a simple servant boy, he had been lucky to have been under the gracious servitude of her Majesty. She was kind and forgiving to all of her people, and not a day went by that those in Utgarde keep starved or felt unsatisfied. Her Majesty was a good ruler.

"Oh you missed a spot Atlas!" An elderly voice said, the tone as smooth and beautiful as a the rustling wind against oak wood. The servant boy jumped and turned sheepishly at the older woman standing amidst the hall, staring disapprovingly at the small speck of dust on the suit of armor left to shine in the hallway.

"I'm sorry Miss Bethia!" Atlas stuttered, his tongue clicking. "I was just distracted is all! I promise it won't happen again!" Miss Bethia, the Head Maid, frowned at him before sighing in resignation. She stepped up and gave him a small peck on the forehead.

"Her Majesty give me strength, how clumsy of you," She admonished him. Atlas smiled sheepishly at her, shrugging his shoulders. Atlas was among the youngest in the servants tending to Her Majesty's keep. His father had been Her Majesty's butler until he had died tragically from hypothermia and his mother had died soon after, unable to bear the grief of losing her husband. As such, Miss Bethia had taken it upon herself to provide as much love and care upon him as possible.

"I'm really sorry," Atlas said, looking up at her. Without even knowing, Miss Bethia could always make him feel guilty. She was the kindest soul, the most radiant person in the keep baring Her Majesty. It ached to know that he had failed her in any way.

Miss Bethia smiled at him, so warm and fresh that Atlas wondered how the storm was continuing to billow outside. "I know," she said, kneading her fingers through his long mane of hair. She marveled at it, twisting it between her finger. "My, so handsome you are becoming. My little knight is going to be such a grand sight to see."

Atlas blushed. He wasn't that little; just shy of thirteen. He would be old enough to work in the ironworks, practicing his metalworking alongside Master Smith Dunwall. Atlas knew the chances of him becoming a knight were small and nothing more than fruitless dream, so he had decided that he would work as closely to them as possible. Besides, being a smith was as much an honored tradition as it was being given the title of Ser by her Majesty's hand.

"Miss Bethia," Atlas squirmed in her embrace, frowning as she hugged him close. "Miss Bethia! You're _crushing_ me!" Miss Bethia giggled and pulled away, her warm smile still in place.

"I'm sorry, looking at you now...," she put a hand to her face as the tears formed at the corner of her eyes, "So many memories come back." Atlas didn't like seeing her like this and grabbed her waist, hugging her tightly for a second before taking a step back. The small show of affection was enough for her though and she was beaming at Atlas again.

Before Atlas could cheer internally at a job well done, Master Feriwelder, the Master Keeper of the Utgarde Legion, stepped into the hallway. His stainless silver metal armor was imposing on his figure. The chest plate was wrapped close to his chest with a curtain of chainmail stopping just above his knees. Dark royal blue cloth covered the intersections of his armor, the colour making its way onto his greaves were pain swirled in intricate snow motifs. On his right shoulder pauldron, the mark of her Majesty, Lady Dona's, Imperial Legion was emblazoned for all to see.

"My lady, I had not expected to see you here," the Master Keeper said but Atlas knew he was lying. The man's short but still gallant hair was combed to the side while still being wild and untamed. Intelligent but hopelessly lost green eyes were shining as he gazed upon Miss Bethia.

Atlas had heard that the man had held a torch for her, but Miss Bethia had been a wryly one. While he didn't like having such information be known to him about his mother figure, Atlas was still amused to see the lost puppy chase after the Head Maid as he did. "I am quite sure," Miss Bethia said, her tone a touch sarcastic and rhythmic.

"Atlas, it always a pleasure to be graced by your presence." The Master Keeper bowed graciously at Atlas, who giggled at the display. While Master Feriwelder was utterly lost with Miss Bethia, he had always been a strong brotherly figure to Atlas.

"Don't fill his head," Miss Bethia admonished, "It wouldn't do if you inflated his head now of all times."

The Master Keeper grinned and opened his mouth to say something else but the bellow of a horn, loud enough to cut through the louder one of the storm outside, was heard. "Ser Derim has returned. Master Feriwelder please return post haste!" The Captain of the Guard cursed quietly but smiled in apology at Miss Bethia.

"Her Majesty be Merciful, these Knights keep my old bones in motion," he said, before turning around and racing back to where he came. It was to be expected that he would run off like that, his duty to her Majesty outshines everything else. Miss Bethia watched him go with a sad smile before patting Atlas on the shoulder.

"Now go on or you'll miss him," she said knowingly. Atlas smiled up at her and handed the broom over. Knowing where he would be going she obliged and let him dash off after the Master Keeper. He passed through the winding pathways of the Keep, smiling at the brief rush of exhilaration that came from the many twists and turns. For a moment he imagined he was riding on the back of a horse, wearing gleaming armor with his hair flapping against his face. Then he skidded to a halt next to a window that overlooked the courtyard, smiling broadly when he saw he had arrived just on time. Master Feriwelder had just arrived, and nodded to the guards standing at attention by the walls. They saluted at him, not quite like knights but a laudable and envious action to take. Then the gates swung open, slowly at first, before opening wide enough to allow the twenty armored warriors on horseback to enter. Their arrival heralded a quick burst of snow to fill the courtyard though, bathing everyone there in a blast of harsh wind, before the gates closed completely.

Atlas watched in awe as the knights sitting atop the horses shook off the snow that had accumulated on their shoulders. Ser Derim, the knight at the front of the troop, hopped off his horse. His long flowing blue cape wrapping around his armored figure as he pulled his helmet off. Blonde locks pulled free, a charming grin on his face as he marched up the steps to greet the Master Keeper. They exchanged a hearty handshake and a boisterous laugh before the sounds of more horns, these ones more regal, signified their stance to grow in attention.

Atlas placed his hands on the limestone beneath him, watching as Her Majesty Lady Dona, stepped down from the keep's steps to greet her knights whom had all returned. 'Her Majesty is beautiful,' Atlas thought. Indeed, her long flowing white dress looked like the soft dough of settled snow, and her white hair rimmed her delicately pale features. A small mouth, turned upwards into a small welcoming smile, and eyes shining even amidst the dim lights in the courtyard.

"Her Majesty!" her honor guards yelled, "Her Majesty has arrived!" Yes, she was an existence that deserved to be announced, Atlas thought. For her Majesty was inviolable, and let no one impede her step. Her keep was the strongest amongst all of Mystral, her Legions strong and her Knights stronger. Her Majesty was the greatest, yet she was humble. Her Majesty was kind, not wicked, and wished only the best for her people. To unite the banners of Mystral to usher peace and prosperity, not for wealth, for her family had that in spades, neither for power, for she rarely sat on the throne that was crafted just for her. For the simple fact that it would cease the wars, the bloodshed, and bring life again in the cold desolate snow.

Atlas watched his Majesty move towards Ser Dermin, his mouth set into a small smile. A beautiful man, meeting a beautiful woman, Atlas thought. The knights all smiled warmly at their Lady, Her Majesty. The Legion soldiers that stood in formation banged their armored fists on their chests, heartily showing their loyalty to her order.

And Atlas watched, content to see Her Majesty whisper small words to the Knights, Ser Derim in particular, and greet her subjects below her. This was his life, and one day he had hoped to be among those very same Knights, to one day greet Her Majesty as they returned from a hard day of Dark One hunting. Then, for everything that he had once thought to be reality, shattered into a pile of broken ashen limestone.

He felt pain flare all around him, his face crashing to the ground, and eyes dimming.


	2. Chapter 2

His eyes were groggy, his mind worse. He couldn't move his fingers, and he was slightly panicked with the thought that they might be gone. But he could still feel his body, and while his fingers were not there, he was sure he still had his arm. So groaning, he pushed himself up to his feet. Bits and pieces of stone fell off his back and Atlas blinked his eyes in a feeble attempt to return his vision.

There were swords clinging outside, the harsh beat of metal on metal. He recognised the sound anywhere after years of imagining them while playing with sticks outside with the other kids. Slowly, Atlas rose to his feet, and immediately felt the cold hit his face. His vision returned all at once and he brought his hand up to shield his face from the blast of wind that slammed into him. Shocked, he watched as what was once a sturdy limestone wall, was nothing more than a hole; with beyond which an army was marching.

The storm was still raging, but through it he could still see the torches of armored men marching through the snow towards the keep. "Legion to me!" He heard a sharp yell in the air. Atlas twisted his eyes away from the sight and stumbled when he saw Master Keeper Feriwelder fighting off a band of armored soldiers marching up the keeps steps.

He held two rapiers in his hands and twirled them expertly. In mere moments, one was on the ground, writhing in agony as his gut was speared, and the other was swiftly decapitated from a swift strike. Another soldier came up and swung a heavy broadsword at him, and Atlas gasped when he saw the Master Keepers Divine Light block the blow, the white nigh-invisible shield making the blade bounce harmlessly just above his armor. "My will is strong! You shall not break it so easily!" Arcs of white lights dashed through the air, and the enemy was on the ground, bleeding to near death even as his body succumbed to the cold.

Looking around Atlas knew that Her Majesty had already vacated, and that the Knights were nowhere to be seen. No doubt they had taken her to safety and were doing battle with the soldiers that had entered further into the keep. From where he sat Atlas could see many flags being presented on the invading soldiers shields and armor. The House of Barlad, the Keep of the East, The Watchers of the North, House Randgriz of Withered Hollows, all factions who were strong in their own right. Each having a grudge with Lady Dona's Keep.

"Miss Bethia," Atlas whispered. Amidst the confusion and destruction, no doubt Miss Bethia would have somewhere gotten tangled up by the frantic rushes. Is she okay? He wondered, but he let those thoughts dash away and raced down the length of the keep, eyes searching for the familiar white and black uniform of the keeps Head Maid. As he ran, he had to keep his hand on his mouth, staring in horror as the bodies of maids and other servants littered the hallways.

Some of the soldiers must have made it inside, cutting down whoever stood in their way as they aimed to eradicate Her Majesty's keep. Gut wrenching at the brutal display, Atlas stumbled down the hallway to the shocking sight of Ser Derim kicking away the body of a dead Randgriz soldier and then bringing his hand out to send a lance of ice into the gut of another. Another rare sight, a Knight's Sacred Gift, one of the most powerful in the entirety of the keep.

"Ser Derim!" Atlas cried out in shock, and the Knight turned to him, his eyes wide.

"Down boy!" He yelled and the servant boy did as he was told without a moment of hesitation. It was lucky he did, however, as an arrow burst above his head, and slammed into the body of Ser Derim. His Divine Light blocked the arrow, while another pierced it just enough to graze his Imperial steel armor. "You disgrace me!" he snarled at the enemy as he bounded past Atlas, "Placing a mark on my armor! My honor demands blood!" The Knights engaged the simple soldiers with a flurry of strikes, so fast and so grueling that it made Atlas' eyes widen in awe. While Master Keeper Feriwelder swordplay had been precised and masterful, the Knight was raw power, breaking the enemy's defence without a shred of remorse. Before long, the enemy soldier was on the ground, staring in horror at the Knight as he plunged a blade into the man's chest.

Atlas watched as the blade was wrenched free, allowing the blood to spurt through the open wound and pooling itself around the ground. "Ser Derim?" he asked, looking at the knight with wide eyes. The knight went down to a knee and instinctively brought his cape up, shielding the boy from the sight of the dead body.

"Hush boy," he said curtly, but not unkindly, "I apologise for making you see such a display but Her Majesty's safety is imperative, and while I am loathed to leave you unprotected, I must return to her side post haste!" Atlas swallowed a wad of saliva, watching the knight that he had respected for so long standing so close.

"Ser Derim, I too have someone I wish to protect, someone dear to me," the boy said meekly. _Be braver, you're thirteen!_

The knight looked down, a thoughtful look on his face, "Someone dear to you?" He asked, a wry tone in his voice. Atlas blushed, _not like that_.

"Miss Bethia, the Head Maid! She is...like a mother to me, Please, I must go search for her! I will not abandon her!" Ser Derim softened his features at Atlas' words, a small look of melancholy on his face as he patted the boys head.

"The bond between a mother and son are strong, even if not by blood. It would be foolish of me to break it for anything, and while my Code of Honor bounds me to make haste to my queen, I cannot deny such an earnest request such as yours," the Knights said. He reached into his back and pulled out a small dagger, handing it to Atlas. The young boy stared at it, his mouth agape, and looked up at Ser Derim as he smiled, "Do not falter, young boy.. The ability to protect must be gained through zeal, never falter. No matter you see, no matter you are forced to do, remember; March on, _never stop moving forward_."

"Yes Ser Derim!" Atlas squeaked. The knight nodded his head and stood.

"Stand tall, young boy, we must go quickly!" Atlas nodded and followed behind the knight as he led the way Her Majesty's throne room. The servant had only been there a handful of times, but even then he knew that the place was designed to hold off an attack of any great magnitude. The corridor leading into it was slanted, moving inwards, and would force the enemy to march into the room two at a time, allowing the defenders to scythe through their enemies without problems. But no matter how many knights were by Her Majesty's side, Atlas knew they could not hold them off forever.

"Here! More of the Wretched Blood is here!" A yell pierced the hallway.

"Of wretched blood?" Ser Derim, his voice filled with mirth, "Surely you jest!" The enemy, a Knight himself, sneered and lunged at Ser Derim. Atlas was knocked backwards, looking in awe as that one strike brought a gush of wind to sail through the area. He faltered, staring numbly as the knights wrestled against each other for control.

Finally, Ser Derim pushed the enemy knight back, stooping in low and bringing his sword in an arc that would pierce the man's hip and escape from his shoulder. The enemy knight however survived the attack, thanks to his Divine Light blocking the attack, and he countered with a jab of his own bastard sword. Ser Derim blocked it with his armor's greaves and Atlas noted how this attack danced across the metal, producing sparks, and not stopped by the power of his Divine Light. Ser Derim took a step back and regained his stance, smiling ferally at the enemy knight. "You have grazed my armor," he said fiercely.

"Only because you did not take the fight seriously. What is this? Is this the decorum one would expect of a knight of the Wretched Blood? How disappointing." Atlas could see the anger form across Ser Derim's face, and he had to admit, even he was becoming riled by the knights accusations.

"What is your name, enemy knight of mine? So that I may spread how I have came to kill one who has dared slight against my Majesty, Lady Dona."

The enemy knight bared his teeth, "Ser Damon of The House of Bran, and you will not leave this match the victor, Wretched Blood!" The Knight sneered as he looked blades with Ser Derim again, this time the two squaring off in a deadly play of swords.

While Derim represented sheer raw power, Damon had the refinery of technique. While they were evenly matched, the two different styles of battle left no room for speculation as to who would win. It was merely a game now to see who would slip up first, make the deadly mistake.

Derim swung low, breaking the stone floor into pieces with his mighty swing. Damon made a feint to the left and then returned back to the right for a low jab towards Ser Derim's heart. The Divine Light blocked it but Damon's Sacred Gift flashed before Atlas' eyes and he watched, stunned, as Derim stumbled backwards. There was a dark spot left from the small burst of lightning that extended off the end of the man's blade, and it nearly pierced through Ser Derim's heart. Blood was trailing down the wound.

"A good sacred gift," Ser Derim complimented, "but not enough." He swerved forward, ice forming around his blade, and sending out a blast of snow towards the Damon. He sneered and brought his sword in a downward arc, cutting through the attack and spreading just enough space to only cause his cape to flap backwards. But it was enough of a distraction for Ser Derim.

He lunged forward, his short sword becoming a spear as ice coated its hilt and extended its reach. Damon took a step back in surprise and moved his blade to block, but too little too late. The blade pierced his shoulder, the ice cast from Ser Derim Sacred Gift causing the Divine Light to break with a swirling of ice crystals, and Damon screamed as his shoulder was pierced. The man dropped to a knee, but Atlas had to respect his tenacity. He swept Ser Derim off his feet with a kick and then pulled out a small dagger from his waist to cut Derim's throat with.

Atlas felt his face flush, and his little young body move at its own accord. Already his mind was trying to deny the chance of Ser Derim, the greatest Knight under Her Majesty, to fall so easily. What little time he thought about this, his body had already decided that he would simple not _allow_ such a thing to happen. And his hands moved. It was reflexively, maybe instinctive, perhaps both; but the blade was flung from his grasp and, since his Divine Light had been depleted by Ser Derim's strike, the blade hit its mark. Ser Damon sputtered and spit, his hands reaching up to his neck as the blade embedded itself into his throat.

Atlas watched, horrified, as blood jumped out of the struggling knights mouth. He stumbled away from Ser Derim, knees buckled and hands scratching his face in some feeble attempt to end the pain. Ser Derim rose to his full height, and pulled out his sword. "I'm sorry you had to die like this," Ser Derim said, "You were a worthy opponent." Then he plunged the blade down, striking the knights heart, and twisted to ensure death was as quick as it was callous.

When the body stilled Ser Derim turned to Atlas. The boy was shaking, but not from cold. Well, maybe cold. When he saw his dagger in Ser Damon's neck, he felt an impossibly cold feeling spread across his body. His heart just turned to ice and his lungs felt like they had shriveled inwards and let itself rot. It was the sickest feeling that Atlas had ever felt in his life. It was more than what Atlas would ever want to face again. Once upon a time he had once dreamed of himself as a knight who marched into battle, and slayed Her Majesty's enemy and the Dark Ones by the throves. But those thoughts, he decided, were callous. Not when such a thing would elicit such feelings of wrongness.

Of the squeamish feeling he felt seeing the fear and certainty of death shine in Damon's eyes, in the moment of helplessness as he knew his life was to ripped away from him. "Young boy," Atlas looked up, staring at Ser Derim who smiled kindly at him. "This feeling you feel, in the pit of your stomach. It feels nauseating, painful, perhaps even like the deft hand of the Dark Ones reaching for your soul, does it not?"

Slowly Atlas nodded his head. "Then it is how it should be. There is honor is fighting, in matching blades with an equal opponent, but death is not honorable. Death is mournful. It is a condemnation of the centuries of hardship that our forefathers faced fighting the Dark Ones, ensuring all of us fellow men were breathing and free. This pain inside you is justified, is the exact culmination of a what is natural." Atlas, not understanding his point. "Now, I ask you. Would you like the idea of your most dearest person feeling the weight of such an act?" The young boy stilled, eyes in horror at the thought of Miss Bethia being consumed by such emotions.

Ser Derim nodded his head, "We do what we must, for if don't, those we love must do it for us. It is a vicious cycle, but it is a needed cycle. It is a test, one of your resolve and your zeal. Warriors, knights, even a simple father keeping his family safe, they have all passed this test. So I ask of you boy, will you fail or will you pass?"

Atlas shook his head, "I don't know," he admitted, "But I'll find it, and I can't do that if I die here." Ser Derim grinned and slapped the boy on the shoulder as he presented him the dagger that he had procured from Ser Damon's corpse. Atlas nodded his head, the feeling returning to his stomach, and followed after the Knights steps.

There was resistance along the way, but none of the calibre of Ser Damon, and Ser Derim had eliminated them without a moment of hesitation. Eventually they arrived to Her Majesty's court and Atlas felt his body shake at the _pile_ of bodies that littered the hallways. "By Her Majesty's grace," Atlas whispered. Ser Derim nodded his head and carefully made his way through, there, he gasped.

He stared in horror and disbelief as he saw the sight in front of him. Her Majesty's knights were laid sprawled on the floor, some in pieces, others if gaping holes on their chests. Glancing around the room, the colour drained from his face seeing the walls in ruined messes and holes in the ground. The bodies of more than thirty enemy knights around the area, near or around the bodies of one of the fallen Majesty's own.

"Your Majesty!" Ser Derim cried and Atlas watched as the knight ran towards the broken body of Her Majesty, the purest light in the whole entirety of the Keep, bloodied next to the throne she never stood on.

But Atlas had tore his eyes away from the scene, instead concentrating on the gaggle of maids that were lying dead in a corner. Focusing, explicitly, on the shock of brown hair and shining eyes now dulled forever. Atlas dropped to his knees, his heart pounding and his teeth slinked backwards in a silent cry. But no tears fell, he tried, but they just wouldn't come. He dropped to his hands, his fingers coiling as the sickening feeling returned. This time it was worse, it was more distinguish, it was more _painful_. All at once the emotions hit, the sorrow, the sadness, the grief, the hatred. The pain, it was all so real. It was all so deafeningly real inside his body. So substantial that Atlas was sure nothing he did could ever surmount to the feeling inside him.

"Mm, ugh, Ser Derim?" Then Atlas felt some hope rise inside and he glanced up, watching as the eyes of Her Majesty fluttered open. Joy rose in his heart, Her Majesty was alive! But...but Miss Bethia was still dead and it had all been because she was in Her Majesty's court...that was flimsy, he knew. Atlas was a smart young man, and such emotions, ones that defy logic, was unbecoming of him. But he still couldn't help but place some blame on Her Majesty. No, he shook his head. _Her Majesty is pure. Her Majesty is inviolable._ Dare he say, infallible.

"Your Majesty," Ser Derim whispered, "How?" he asked. Her Majesty, Lady Dona, raised a bloodied dagger from behind her, mouth stretched wide into a small grin.

"They thought me defenseless, I proved a knight the error of his ways," She said. Atlas flushed in slight shame. Her Majesty had killed, had done the same act as him and had done it with only the barest hint of regret. _Her Majesty is strong._ "We must leave, immediately."

A surge of power behind Atlas was the only thing he had for warning, before he was flung towards the ground with a cry of pain. He rolled onto his back and was able to catch sight of Ser Derim turning towards the sudden guttural roar. "The Dark Ones! Such extensive fighting such as this was no doubt going to call them forth!" Her Majesty yelled.

Atlas watched in mute horror and the Dark One that he faced. It was large and bestial, a monster in its own right. It swung at Ser Derim, and swatted him aside. The man dropped to the ground with a grunt, his Divine Light wavering, and his Sacred Gift snuffed by the Dark One's solidarity. The Dark One marched towards Ser Derim, arms poised to strike.

"Ser Derim!" Her Majesty yelled and she had her dagger in her hand, swinging it at the Dark One. It screeched and backhanded Her Majesty away. She crashed to the ground, her head scraping off the flooring. Blood seeped onto the ground, and Atlas could see that there was a deep cut across her left eye. White hair, in a pool of blood, with her eyes stained red. The sight haunted Atlas, even as Ser Derim rose back to his feet and tried to attack the Dark One again. But by himself he was little match.

Atlas forced himself up. So much strength in the two people in front of him. He was sure, if Miss Bethia was there, she'd have been cheering him on. If she was there, everything would become clear. Atlas forced himself up and he found that he was standing on both his legs, blood dripping down his back like a river, and a snarl on his face.

A spark behind his deep blue eyes, so deep he himself knew not what it meant. He brought his arm back, the bastard sword in his grasp flowing downwards in a smooth arc. A blue hue took over its shape, ice coating the edges but not like that of Ser Derim. No this ice was ghostly pale, shining crystals that showed nothing but extravagant light. He felt the Divine Light spread across him, burning into his eyes. They melted, blood dripping down, but in their place his eyes shined brighter than any torch. Like the moon, with its soft encouraging glow, but his was fiercer. The boy brought his sword back...

...and he swung.

Thus began the tale, of the White-Eyed Knight, Ser Atlas of Her Majesty's court. Lady Dona Schnee.

 **I don't know why but I really like Atlas. Like I want to know everything about it. I want to know its history, its people, its past. Seeing it now, and learning that Mystral is now a defunct kingdom with the school Atlas practically its government, I couldn't help myself. I just thought about all these things and I imagined that the Kingdom of Mystral was alot like Game of Thrones world. It just felt so right. And in mythology Atlas was a Titan that shouldered the weight of the world, so, you know, now he's just a knight who is faced with a similar problem. I just loved the idea but I don't think I'll write it. I lack the literary skills, so to all of** _ **you**_ **writers out.**

 **If you want, you can take it. I would just like a headsup first because I'd love to read it.**


End file.
